And the parenting awards keep rolling in…

Now there’s an idea!

Monday mornings at our house are always fun.  It is a mad scramble to get everyone dressed, everything brushed and out the door before the first bell goes at school.

Today started out slow, it took special skills to coax the kids out of bed.

It also took major patience to get them fed and convince, especially the girls, to get dressed.  Daniel was on a roll and quite happily playing with the iPad as reward for being ready early.

As I was packing Mignon’s ballet clothes into her suitcase (yes, I should have done this last night, judge away) Isabel comes into the kitchen looking for her boots.

Here’s the thing about twins: they are great to have around when one forgets the words or tune to a song they learnt in class, as there’s always someone to help.  They really are double the joy.

But man, sometime they are double the pain in the behind. Double the drama, double the stubborn, double the powers of convincing required.

Someone gave us a pair of Wellington boots with hearts on them ages ago that are already quite worse for wear.  We have lots and lots of pairs of Wellies, but this particular pair have always been a bone of contention.  Because, well, they have hearts on them.  Isabel usually wears them because SOMEONE (not me) wrote her name on them one desperate morning a long long time ago.  So technically they aren’t “her” boots, they have to share and take turns.

But this morning she wanted those boots and when she came into the kitchen looking for them I had a feeling we were in for a challenge.  Mignon was already wearing them.  When she found Mignon hiding out in our room wearing those boots there were tears.  At approximately the exact time we were meant to be leaving the house. When those meltdowns happen I have a little scream on the inside and I admit: I panic.

See, I’m really bad with picking one child over the other and terrified of making one child feel left out/disadvantaged in any way (my own shit, I know).  So mostly I leave Etienne to mediate, which he is spectacularly good at.  We usually have strict rules about ownership, but for reason these bloody boots slipped through the muddy cracks.

So we tried to coax Mignon into taking them off, which felt wrong to me, besides the fact that she mutely stared at me, refusing to budge. Then we tried to get Isabel to wear another pair of boots in that high-pitched “look at how lovely these boots are” voice.  You know which voice. THAT desperate we’re-late-but-I’m-going-to-humor-you-for-5-more-minutes-until-I-lose-my-shit-voice

Isabel cried actual, desperate, heart-wrenching tears.  I couldn’t bear it.  So, I offered a Mother’s desperate ultimatum: if Isabel doesn’t stop crying and give Mignon a turn no-one can have them.  They will go into the bin.

Cue more tears, more mute, immovable stares. And Daniel’s helpful little taunting voice in the background saying how cross Mommy is.

I lost the plot, took them off Mignon’s feet and chucked them in the bin.  The recycling bin nogals.

I know, I’m horrible.

Isabel was crying full-steam when they got into Etienne’s car saying how she promised to share if only I wouldn’t throw the boots away.  Promise!  Promise! That was like the knife twisting in my heart.

Which meant we were all unhappy, go ME!

We had a little make-up at the car with some serious hugs and kisses, but I felt like shit.

Thing is, I had visions of sending them to school with that one pair of boots between the two of them and the potential fighting there and I was just not prepared to cause more problems. I keep thinking about what the lesson was that we were all meant to learn and if I royally fucked up my kids this morning.  I also keep thinking of what potentially would have been a win-win for everyone or whether one of my kids (I can’t even decide which one because neither of them was really wrong!) had a lesson to learn from it.

Then I entertained (and swiftly abandoned) the thought of going out and buying new boots.  But then I would have had to buy 3 pairs of new boots and that’s just silly.  Besides, they have lots of boots as it is.

I don’t want to raise children that won’t want to share with each other, but I also don’t want to raise children that can be easily victimized or aren’t independent.  I battle with this a lot and I’m just really, really grateful that we have Etienne, he is often the lone voice of calm in a sea of emotional turmoil.

How do you deal with this kind of thing in your house? 

Is it an issue at all?

The things we don’t say

20130524-185009.jpg If you’ve known me in real life for any stretch of time you’ll know that I’m not great at tact and filtering. I’m a lot better and more patient than I used to be, but it’s hard work to keep quiet when I know that sometimes I would just be out of line just if those words come out of my mouth.

I find it especially hard to keep quiet when I see something that I know will eventually hurt someone and they are either heading for disaster, doing something that they’ll regret or someone is hurting them and it is none of my business. Very, very hard work.

For example:

In the mall I frequent there is a young lady in a wheelchair. Someone in my team asked her one day why she was in a wheelchair. Her answer? She has a fear of walking. She can walk, she just doesn’t like to.

I have been walking past this person almost daily for the last 2 years and every single time I see her rolling herself – with her feet – to the toilets I want to stop and suggest that she maybe go and see a shrink. It pisses me off to see someone this young just throw away their life. And then I talk myself off that ledge and back away from her, because it really is none of my business and I should live and let live and there’s possibly a very good reason for her being like this. But still, that’s so very wrong. I despair for her lack of independence without good reason.

There is also this person on twitter I really like. She is a beautiful, smart and strong woman, but she is so completely wrapped up in self-hate and self-loathing that it pulsates from her tweets. I desperately want to say something, but I’m scared that she’ll be upset with me. And then I consider the alternative and I’m tempted to say : Hey, stop doing that. It annoys people that you only put yourself down so much that it seems like attention seeking behavior of the worst kind. But, then I grind my teeth and keep quiet.

The friend whose husband can be a real ass sometimes? I can’t give him a klap upside the head because I know that he’ll know that she has been talking to me and it would be, well, awkward.

The neighbour who stood outside their house watching their dog attack another dog in front of our house the other day. It would not end well if I suggested that it may have been good for them to step in instead of Etienne and myself.

The two-faced energy-thief I loathe? Can’t say a word, just nod and smile.

This is possibly why I get so enraged when people don’t strap in their kids and friends from overseas talk crap about SA (that post is sitting in my drafts). There is the possibility I channel all the words I cannot say into these things.

Because I can.

But then, there are people like this guy, whom I applaud. It is SO something I would do.

Ps. Don’t google images for ‘zipped lip’. Just. Don’t.

And then, strangely, there was no guilt

It’s official.  I have turned into *that* Mother that sends her children off to mid-week children’s parties with the Au Pair.

It’s been a long time coming, but after the last time I took leave so I could take Daniel to a party and the Moms were all talking about how terrible aftercare is for children and I just thought: This isn’t for me, I don’t belong here.

No more will I force myself to take leave I could have saved up to spend time doing something more valuable with my kids.

No more will I feel like I’m eavesdropping on conversations I have no business listening to about things that happen in the day when I am at work.

No more will I compound my own guilt at not being to linger in the school parking lot or over coffee with a friend in the middle of the day.

No more will I try too hard to fit in with Moms that, practically speaking, will not ever be great friends.  Not because they aren’t lovely people, there just isn’t time.

No more will I compromise the little time I do have with Etienne and the kids.

No more.

 

BUT.

 

If you are a SAHM Mom I want to say this: I am extremely grateful for your generosity with your time and wanting to help out at school, serve on PTA’s, decorate classrooms for special occasions, carting other people’s children around and work in the tuck shop.

Your children will love you for spending time next to the sports field and I and my children thank you for updating me what they are doing when I’m not there to see them roll in gymnastics or play rugby.

You have a really thankless job, so I want to say THANK YOU.

Just for in case no-one has said it lately.

Thank you.

 

Another Gym Post

How’s your week going? Mine’s been pretty cool so far, but it’s going to be a busy few days ahead.

I recently wrote this post about gym (the place, not the person) and how I was sure I’m allergic as I forever kept getting sick.

Subsequent to that I changed to another gym and what a difference it has made.  No, I still don’t enjoy waking up at 4h50 in the morning so I can drag my sorry ass out of the house and into the cold and dark, but I’m never sorry that I went. And it rained this morning when I came out of the gym at 5h55. Just rude.

The new gym is a lot bigger than the old one and there is such a mix of people there, from serious, 5am-make-up-wearing-gym-bunnies to Dads and their boys hanging out on the circuit. I’m completely amazed at how packed that gym is so early in the morning, so many cars in the parking lot!

The best thing about the new gym must be their treadmills.  Each treadmill has a TV screen, so you can watch TV whilst you sweat.  For someone like me that cannot bear doing only one thing at a time this is very pleasing. My favourite channel is VH1 Classic and I spend a lot of time either grinning like an idiot or trying not to bop along whilst trying to walk my 4km in under 40 minutes.  I also may or may not have given in to flicking fingers and waving arms around whilst keeping pace. But I’m not saying. I do dread the day I either trip or something equally stupid that lands me on my ass on a moving treadmill.

All in all?  I’m having fun.  I enjoy being able to just do my thing and not having to make eye-contact with or talk to anyone.  It’s just me and VH1 Classic. No need to try and figure out the whole sub-culture of gym that I can see exists. And I have yet to run into a single person I know.

Awesome.

This morning’s favourite was Take That’s Back for Good, complete with bad boy Robbie Williams. I had such a rush of London memories of when they broke up and the gay guys at work were all crying. That was London in the 90’s for you!

Here’s the song and remember to look out for Robbie..

 

Now I just need to get off the treadmill and try something else at the gym.  Or just start running, like I promised myself I would.

What do you do at the gym?

 

 

Hanging with the kids

On Friday evening we went out for supper with friends to a pizza place in an open mall. We enjoy going there because there’s a fountain, a tree and lots of space to run. There’s also always a bunch of kids that we may or may not know.

I love watching the way the kids organise themselves quickly into running groups and gladly hang off the tree or play in the water. There’s no judgement. No appraisal to see if someone looks socially or physically acceptable. Just the sheer joy of playing.

It also occurred to me that we spend a fair amount of time, money and energy on things to keep our children occupied when often they are quite happy with an open space, some crayons and a sheet of brown paper.

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Oh to be a carefree child again!

Ps. I realised this morning that I didn’t leave our house once this weekend. I spent plenty of time hanging out in the garden, but I didn’t set a foot in the road for a walk and I didn’t go to the shops. Must be some kind of record.

An ode to Tannie Emsie

emsieThere has been much dinner table conversation in our house about manners lately (oh, who am I kidding, we are ALWAYS on about manners).  I got sick of whining about elbows off the table/don’t wipe your hands on your clothes/eat with your mouth closed/don’t talk with your mouth full of food/sit up straight, so we made it into a game.

The game is called: what would a Princess/Prince do.  It wasn’t on purpose, but it’s been fun.  Although it does get a little out of hand with helpful suggestions like “Princesses don’t fart at the table” and “Princesses never burp out loud, especially not in front of strangers” and “Princesses don’t scratch in their noses AND eat their snot”.

All this talk of manners reminded me of Emsie Schoeman, that old stalwart of Good Afrikaans Manners.  Who remembers her?  My Mother used to terrorise us with Tannie Emsie.  We had her book, it was required reading in our house and heaven help you if you stepped out of line and broke the Rules of Life According to Tannie Emsie.

Tannie Emsie is the Afrikaans equivalent of Emily Post (thank you Vanessa!) and if you don’t know who Emily Post is, well, you’re on your own.

At this point in my life I’m not complaining about Tannie Emsie as hopefully some of it stuck, but I came across this gem from Sarie magazine that was published in 2009.  I apologise, it is in Afrikaans, I’m not even going to attempt to translate it (that’s what Google Translate is for), but it is truly special and truly Afrikaans. I see she is even on twitter!

In a nutshell, a lady doesn’t put lipstick on in public, always ALWAYS take something for your hostess if you are going to her house and always remember to thank her afterwards (something I often forget to do, especially with really good friends).  And here I thought it was part of my OCD, not ever wanting to arrive empty-handed at someone’s house.

Right at the bottom of the Sarie link there’s a question about “Oom” (Uncle) and “Tannie” (Aunty) and the varying opinions on whether you make your kids say “Oom” and “Tannie”.  I know many people hate it when other people’s children call them this and prefer to be called by their first names, but man, it goes against my grain to make my kids call an adult by their first name.  I’m getting over it, but it’s really awkward and I find myself avoiding the use of that adult’s name when there’s an interaction between them and one of our kids.  It’s almost a “Er, sê dankie mumblemumble vir die roomys” and I would usher the child away quickly lest I embarrass someone and the dreaded Oom/Tannie slips out.

On the topic of Tannie/Oom, I found this little gem too.  I may or may not have done some ill-mannered snorting at the You-Tube clip.

What do make your kids call other adults that aren’t related to you or really good friends of yours?

What were the things that your parents were really hectic about when it came to manners? 

Ps: I also seem to spending an inordinate amount of time discussing things that don’t belong in pants.  For example:

“Daniel, take the Bushbaby out of your pants”

“But Mom! I like the bush down there”

and another one of my favourites:

“Daniel, take the Angry Birds (soft toy) out of your pants!”

“But Mom!  I like having a bird down there!”

I couldn’t make this stuff up, not even if I tried.

PPS: Tannie Emsie is apparently very much alive and well and living in Wilderness and entertaining Nataniël on a regular basis.

Please don’t say ‘I told you so’

It was Daniel’s birthday last Friday and his party on Saturday. I won’t lie: it was very stressful.

There were some Moms here that haven’t been to our house before and an hour before the party Etienne was moving furniture around with Norma when she moved the couch over his foot, resulting in the loss of the nail of his big toe. Yes, it was as gross as it sounds, I apologise for the over-share. He is tough, but still in a lot of pain, poor guy.

On the way to the hospital we passed my parents so I promptly screeched to a halt and made my Dad take him to the hospital.

Then, when I arrived home and checked the soup on the stove I realised that the gas had run out. It was a real WTAF moment for me. A gas bottle normally lasts us about 6 months, so that really was not necessary. Luckily the guy responsible for Daniel’s party entertainment was able to help eventually.

The party itself was a blur, but the kids had a blast, I will do a proper post with pics soon, promise.

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Then, on Tuesday, a bunch of us went to see Bon Jovi. It was absolutely amazing, I’m SO glad I went, it was just what the doctor ordered.

In general I’m feeling very tired, a little miserable and burnt-out at the moment. It’s been a long year of parties so far. My 40th in Jan, the girls in March, my Mom’s surprise party in April and Daniel in May. Work. Parenting. Being a wife. Life in general. People being assholes on the Internet. Making time for family and friends. Gym. Keeping up with school activities.

So, before you say ‘I told you so’, I know. I’m overcommitted. If it were up to me I would curl up in a corner for 2 weeks, read mindless drivel and not speak to a single person the entire time.

Sadly though, life carries on, so I’m going to go easy on the Internet and Social Media and focus the most important people: my family.

What do you do when you are feeling stretched so thin you feel brittle? How do you find your way back to yourself?

The Stroppy Sevens

I recently mentioned on twitter how stroppy Daniel has been and my darling friend Caz very helpfully pointed out that it is an actual thing, this being stroppy at seven or the Stroppy Sevens. Or as a New Zealand website tactfully puts it, the ‘sensitive sevens’. I may or may not have rolled my eyes.

I can go on and on and on about how badly behaved our darling, affectionate, old soul, gentle son is at the moment. I could tell you about the sulking and the ‘NO!’ and being ignored and kicking (!!) and shoving (!!) his sisters. The crossing of arms and slumping of shoulders. The point blank refusal to do basic things like brush his teeth or take his plate to the kitchen. The throwing of books (!!!!) and telling us how he doesn’t love us anymore.

The constant, constant demand for physical touch and affection, to the point of literally hanging on Etienne or myself at every conceivable opportunity. I feel terrible writing this, but I am generally a very touchy-feely, affectionate person and I find it exhausting. Exhausting. Especially multiplied by 3. A friend and I went to a market on Saturday and all 3 my children were physically attached to me (or my poor friend) for the entire time we were there. We were a wall of limpets, wading through the market.

But I don’t want to scare you, especially if you are currently trying to survive the Terrible Twos or the Fucking Fours. Yes, I said Fucking. If you’ve ever had a four year old you’ll understand.

We are choosing to deal with it by being firm and consistent.

By firm and consistent I mean we threaten to punish/take away iPad privileges far too much and we drink (a lot of) wine. Etienne handles it better than I do, he makes light of the lip dragging on the floor and play-fights when Daniel punches him or point blank refuses to do his homework. He tickles and tries to drag Daniel out of his slump. Me, on the other hand, I linger on the edge of rage. It feels like I’m sending him a message that I don’t love him and I feel like a complete bitch all of the time, but I refuse to pander day in and day out to bad behaviour.

I realised how much this is upsetting me when I dreamt this the other night:
I dreamt I was in town (as in Cape Town CBD) with the kids and we were waiting for a procession to come by, we were sitting on the curb, right in that bend in the road where Adderley turns into Wale. Daniel was really angry with me and stalked off. He got into a taxi and all I saw was the back of his head as the taxi sped off. And then Etienne was cross because I let Daniel get in the taxi. I literally woke up gasping for breath, realising that it was just a horrible dream. That feeling of my child being gone, ai. No words.

So, we shall rally on and survive the Stroppy Sevens, but it’s not for the fainthearted.  And he is only turning 7 on Friday.  Pass the wine.

It of course has crossed my mind that we will have a double whammy in 2 years when the girls turn 7.

Girl Moms, how bad is it with girls?  Please don’t say BAD.  I don’t think I can handle it.

On feeling an age

I just loved this piece on how old people feel vs their actual age.

Over the last few years I have written often about my In-Laws and how young they are for their age (my FIL is 83 and my MIL is of undisclosed not-so-far-off age). I have written about a friend’s Mom (who passed away a couple of years ago) that was such an inspiration to me on how to live your life young.

Tonight I’m wondering how old I feel and I don’t really have an answer. What I can say is that the number 40 so far is a watershed. Yes, only 4 months in and already I’m smug about being 40, but hear me out.

All those years I desperately and spectacularly unsuccessfully wanted to be thin because then and only then would other people like me and therefore I would then like myself? Utter bullshit. I was stuck in such a cycle of self-pity and hatred.

Not feeling comfortable in my skin and having trouble expressing myself because God forbid someone won’t agree with me and therefore not like me? Such crap. I’m actually a nicer person now because I’m more real.

Chasing friendships that will never be reciprocated and compromising my other (real) friends in the process? So over that. You either want to be my friend or not, we’re not children anymore.

Bandying to politics in circles of friends and at work and talking behind people’s backs because it appeases my own insecurities? Guilty as charged, no more will I do this or tolerate it.

I find myself saying more and more these days that life is too short and it is SO true. The kids are only going to be small once, we are incredibly blessed with the people in our life right now. The rest really is just superfluous shit.

– Don’t waste your time on people that make you feel bad or lie to you, they will only pull you down.

– Take care of your skin, it becomes obvious at 40. My mother made me stay out of the sun and wear eye-cream from the age of 21, I only wish she insisted I wear neck cream too.

– You really can choose how you react to the things in your life that upset you. You are either a victim of your own making or a survivor – the choice is entirely yours.

– Love your lover. Show them you love them, every single day, in every possible way. Even if they pissed you off the night before. Just do it.

– Read books aloud to your kids and with feeling. I read Cat in the Hat aloud to the kids tonight and it was the most fun I’d had ALL day. Fair enough it was a spectacularly shitty day, but reading made it all better.

I know this got all rambly and preachy, it didn’t really start out this way, but trust me on this:

Live your own life, not the life you think you should have had or you think other people think you should have. Just be who you are, the rest will sort itself out. Promise.

And be kind to yourself. You’re worth it. Always. No matter how old you are.

Averting disaster

This entire past weekend it felt a little like I was either being hurtled toward disaster or barely escaping it.

It was my Dad’s birthday on Saturday and we had offered to cook him and my Mom a meal, seeing as how my Mom is still out of action due to a dislocated shoulder. I also (studiply) promised him a cheesecake which I’ve never tried before.

After a bit of a slow start on Saturday morning (blame Whine Club from the night before) we flung ourselves at the mercy of Stodels before I went screaming through the neighbourhood to get Daniel to a party at 11h00. I was meant to do my Dad’s cheesecake first thing in the morning, but thought I could drop Daniel off and then go back home and do the cheesecake.  No such luck.  (I’d never dropped Daniel off and left him at a party before and I was hoping I could do that on Saturday.  Alas)

He eventually said that I could leave him, giving me just enough time to drive to Willowbridge to see if I could buy a cheesecake.  Nope, no such luck.

Back to the party I went to collect Daniel, only to have Etienne call and say that the alarm had gone off at my In-Laws’ house* and he was going there with the girls to check it out. 10 minutes later he calls and asks me to fetch the girls so off I went to collect them and back to the party (which by now was actually long over, but there was a bunch of lovely Moms, the kids were having fun and I just couldn’t be arsed to deal with my Cheesecake Crisis. And there was wine.)

Eventually I dragged the kids off home, just in time to start supper.  At this point I realised that Cheesecake was just not going to happen, so Pavlova for dessert it was.  So now I have several containers of cream cheese in the fridge, I really have no excuse not to make the bloody cheesecake.

When I opened my handbag when we got home everything was wet inside, including my iPad cover and the iPad, so that went straight into the rice.  I was not happy at all, I was baffled by what could have happened until I picked up a bag of sweets that Daniel got at the party this morning to find it wet.  There was a waterballoon inside that had popped in my bag.  At least the iPad seems fine, phew, I would have been very upset.

Saturday night was a veritable hurl-fest for me (No, I didn’t have *that* much to drink) so not much sleeping got done, but life goes on. We wanted to take the kids out for lunch yesterday and ended up at Eaglevlei.  We hadn’t been there in a while, but used to love it.

From the minute we walked in we could see that things aren’t what they used to be.  It used to be a really great restaurant with outstanding service.  They have expanded the seating in a big way, but with pub-type wooden benches and the menu seems smaller.  They now also have a Sunday Buffet and we despise buffets.

The dining experience wasn’t too bad (you can’t really mess up a salad), but it felt like they had taken elements of a fine dining restaurant and slapped it with some Spur.  Very weird.  I don’t think we’ll be going back in a hurry.  And I don’t care if you think I’m a food snob.

What did you get up to this weekend?

*a couple of assholes had taken a crowbar and broken the steel front gate as well as the front door, grabbed the 2 tv’s in the house and made a run for it.  They were literally in and out within a minute.  My In-laws luckily are away at the moment, so no-one got hurt, but it is really not cool.  Also, the audacity of robbing someone at 2pm on a Saturday afternoon in full view of the street is astounding.

PS: this is a very long and rambly post, I know. But it’s done now.